Dance With The Devil
by AnimeBride
Summary: Holmes starts to suspect someone is after Watson to get him in the end, by taking out the only one he can thoroughly rely on. How will they solve this when they're not partners anymore, and just keep arguing about Watson's marrige? H/W AND W/H
1. Simple Design

**Summary:** First chapter, woho!**  
Rating:** K**  
Pairings:** None, except for John and Mary**  
Disclaimer:** These lovely characters belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but apparently is Andrea Plunket executor of Conan Doyle's estate and owner of the rights to the detective series. Guy Ritchie owns the film that inspired me.  
Well, I'm merely borrowing them for my stories, created with my twisted fangirl mind.****

NOTE: I have decided to ignore the whole **Professor Moriarty arc since I don't think I have the skills for it now and my mind is already set on another story. And I'm trying a new style now, more dialogs!**

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**Simple design  
**

**By AnimeBride**

**Mello**

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**John Watson  
**

"You could not have picked another date, could you?"

"I'm not quite sure I'm following you." Watson frowned sceptically. Holmes always knew where he was going.

"I've been a married man for almost four months now and how many times have you come to visit my new house. Twenty-one?"

"Twenty-two if you count Tuesday. That's far more than you've been to Baker Street, Watson." The detective added with a puckered brow. Watson snorted. There were so much to do now; of course he didn't have time to waste with his friend like old days. Any reasonable man would understand that.

There again, Holmes wasn't really what you can call a reasonable man.

"_Over _twenty times, and exactly how many of these times have Mary been in the house?"

"I do recall her being slightly disagreeing with my comments on the placements of the sofa."

"Besides the time we _both_ showed you the house."

"I still fail to see your point, old boy." The detective answered as he took a nonchalant sip of wine. The doctor paused a bit before continuing on what he wanted to say, meeting his old friend's eyes.

"Holmes. Every time you're there, you visit me. Only me."

"Why wouldn't I? If one goes to see the household surly he wishes to exchange some time with the man of the house?"

"What about the lady then?"

"Are you blaming me for visiting your house, my dear doctor? If so, I can assure you my visits will-"

"No, no, Holmes. Frankly, I'm just wondering why you are avoiding Mary?"

"You're accusing the very one that comes to the house and not the one leaving it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you should ask that wife of yours why she has been avoiding me?"

"Don't speak of her like that! Why would Mary do that, she asked me only two days ago about your health. Being the caring woman she is."

"Of course she did."

"Stop it."

"I do recall, my dear Watson, _I_ was the one who planned this very dinner."

"On the very night when Mary is out of town."

"I can't remember you telling me that."

"I can bet my dog on that you knew it anyway."

"Our dog."

"_The dog!_"

"Isn't it selfish to call him just your dog when he is living wi-"

"It doesn't matter, Holmes. This is not about Gladstone." Watson sighed. If he knew Holmes right, which he did, this could go on the whole night. It was probably better if he just said it straight out, though he was not very fond of doing so. "This is about you and Mary."

"I understand." Holmes said with a calm voice. Too calm, more precisely.

"Do you?" Watson frowned extremely distrustfully.

"You're tired. Being married is more stressful than you imaged. You're exhausted. Maybe feeling sensitive too." He answered with a light smile on his lips, like he knew exactly how Watson felt. Which he certainly _did not_. The whole thing started to get the young doctor increasingly irritated. Sure, he was somewhat tired, but not as tired as he was at having this conversation.

"I'm not sensitive-"

"How is she handling it?"

"Fine, just as me. That is why-"

"Good, good. The two of you getting along?"

"Of course. If you would let me-"

"And the sex life?"

"Holmes! Why in heavens name are you-"

"Not good, I see. Explains a lot actually."

"_Holmes!_" Watson exclaimed angrily, he had taken it too far.

"Allow me to explain."

"Allow _**me**_; you are scared." Holmes had just opened his mouth to counter, but the words seemed to take him by surprise. He looked at the young doctor who continued now when he finally had his attention. "Well, maybe that was over the top, but I know you. You do not like when things take another turn and you can't control it. If you're not fascinated by some part of the event, of course. Listen, things might change but I'm still your doctor. _Your friend_. You need to size the truth and stop acting like a child. I know you will be fine without me." A pause, the two formally partners looked at each other. Holmes seemed to be thinking about something, studying Watson closely as he did so. He closed his eyes and smiled as he once again looked up.

"Extraordinary diagnosis, doctor. I'm proud of you." Watson smiled in relief, it had gone well. Holmes nodded like he was confirming something to himself as he reached for the dark bottle. "More wine?"

* * *

  
They continued to talk about easy common things; when the grand opening of the bridge would be, how Watson's patients were doing and so on. Sometimes Holmes mentioned something that reminded them of one of their old cases, but he lead the conversation away from it just as the doctor would be interested about it. Watson decided to not care about it, he was still thankful that he had said what was one his heart and his friend had taken it rather well. Almost like an adult.

"I would reconsider eating that if I was you, old boy."

"And why would you do that?" Watson looked between Holmes and the small chocolate dessert that had been placed in front of him only moments ago.

"Come on, Watson. Do not disappoint me. Look at the decoration."

"It is quite neat."

"More, anything out of the ordinary?"

"They have added a cinnamon stick on top."

"And why would one do such a thing to an already perfect cake?"

"Maybe because someone thought it would look good. I cannot say that I disagree." He answered with a floating tone, he was not amused by Holmes' game this time.

"Quite charming to the eye, yes, but you must broaden your mind."

"Smells quite odd." Watson finally said after a short moment where he actually tried to follow.

"Odd, as in disapproval of the dish?"

"Not really, no."

"So you would still consider putting it in your mouth. In other words: eating it?"

"Yes."

"Seems like the cinnamon have fulfilled its task."

"Are you implying-"

"Quite remarkable tree, the cinnamon," Holmes interjected. " Belongs to the family Lauraceae. It is often confused with other similar species and the similar spices derived from them, such as Cassia and Cinnamomum burmannii, which are often called-"

"Holmes, are you saying that my dessert, the meal I have been waiting for the whole dinner, is _poisoned_?" Watson gave the cake a cynical look, why must something always happen? He liked the dessert because when he actually got to eat one that fact alone proved that the dinner had been successful. Which was quite remarkable, with Holmes as your company.

"You could always try it if you like, doctor."

"This is absurd. You are the one that is always targeted."

"Fashion changes quicker than one can fill one's wardrobe. Besides, the waiter was sweating quite more than he usually does and did not dare to look at neither of us."

"Can't really blame him for it, can we?" They both smiled and laughed at the situation. It was almost like old times.

"Shall we?" Holmes nodded toward the door and Watson agreed. He could survive without the dessert this time.

* * *

  
For the following weeks Watson didn't think much about his conversation with Holmes or the dessert incident. He simply distracted himself with work from the clinic. There was a special comfort with coming home to a loving wife, they both knowing he had worked hard for their sakes, as she placed a gentle kiss on his lips. It remembered him slightly of the feeling when a case had been solved successfully, Holmes patting his back saying something like '_well done, old boy, well done..._'

Though he told himself there was no such connection.

"John, darling. There is a package for you." The young doctor looked a bit surprised from the young maid who took his outdoor clothes and excused herself, to his wife. Mary was dressed in a delightful green dress, a caring smile decorated her lips.

"Thank you, Mary. Do you know from whom?" he asked as she had given him her usual _I'm-glad-you're-home_-kiss.

"From Mr. Holmes, actually. Did the two of you have a nice dinner the other day?" Mary said with a smile, but Watson could sense something else too. He decided to leave it for now. He couldn't really deny he was far more interested in the package placed on the table in the tearoom. Addressed to him. From Holmes.

"Quite pleasant."

"I'm going to bed now. See you tomorrow." She gave his arm a squeeze and he gave her a light kiss in return. She was apparently not interested in the small paper box.

"Can't wait, love."  
Watson removed the dark green strings and lifted the box's cover. Inside the brown box was a chocolate cake. Like the one at the Royal. He grimaced as he looked closer. _Exactly_ like the one at the Royal. Holmes knew why he liked desserts; was this his idea of a proper ending to their dinner? He scrutinized the box more closely. No note. The black haired man would surely take time to scrabble s_omething_ down, yet there was nothing of the sort in the package.

Could this also been- No. He was not Holmes. People _liked_ him. Besides, he wasn't Holmes partner anymore; he had no interest in other people's affairs. This was merely his old friend playing with him. Nothing else.

"Rubbish."

He took one final look at the chocolate cake before throwing it out with the garbage. He was not paranoid, he would just pay Gladstone a visit next weekend and maybe confront his former partner about it, while he was there anyway.

**To be continued.  


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**

**Author's Notes:** HELLO THERE, LADS. It's been a loooong time since I last wrote something that I can post here, how are you all? I watched the new Sherlock Holmes film and GODDAMMIT. I kept telling myself "_...don't ship it, don't ship it, don't ship it..._" and I do believe my first words after the film was "_I SHIP IT_." Hey, at least I tried, you gotta give me that ;D and now I can't get enough of this lovely paring, ah!  
It just that... I'm a bit scared, actually. What if I don't get the characters right? Hmmm.... It took a month for me to get the courage to start writing, two days to finish it and then another week because my brother is a really lazy beta reader (though good as hell!). I'm currently working with chapter 2, and it's terrifying as it is written from Holmes' pov.  
I borrowed "**_The complete illustrated short stories -Sherlock Holmes_**" yesterday AND I LOVE IT. All 56 wonderful stories in my hands, do I need to say more? I'm very pleased to find quotes from the novels in the new film and this helps me to understand the characters.  
God, I just talking and talking when I should be studying English (hoh!).  
..... surely reading "The Man with the Twisted Lip" counts? _**-sneaks away to read-**_

A big THANK YOOOOOOOU to my beta readers: Sara and Danne.

I loooooooooove reviws and I will start to answer them again, so please tell me what's on your mind! Hope you all have a good time until next time!


	2. What lies beneath

**Summary:** Someone gave the doctor a poisoned cake when he had dinner with Holmes. Even though their fight, the evening turned out well. Then Watson got a small cake deliverd to his house some time after, was there really someone after him, or was it merly a joke by his old friend? (_okay, I really suck at this, yeeeeeey. c_c_ )**  
Rating:** K**+  
Pairings:** None, just a litte angst in this one**  
Disclaimer:** These lovely characters belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but apparently is Andrea Plunket executor of Conan Doyle's estate and owner of the rights to the detective series. Guy Ritchie owns the film that inspired me.  
Well, I'm merely borrowing them for my stories, created with my twisted fangirl mind.

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**What lies beneath  
**

**By AnimeBride**

**Mello**

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**Sherlock Holmes**

Being bored was something the detective of Baker Street hated to be, and it was unfortunately something he easily got. Even though he now had to pay the whole rent alone he still found himself too restless for his own likening.

He had just finished a bunch of uninteresting cases, just so Mrs. Hudson finally would stop bothering him about payments and the cruelties of the world, and was finally back in Baker Street. Not that he cared much; it was just as mind-numbing as before.

Holmes had risen out of his drug-created dreams from the day before and an unfinished experiment became his occupation for the day; at least there was something he could still do.

He didn't even bother to look up from his papers as he heard the main door open. He already knew who it was, and that he was upset about something.****

"Doctor Watson, I presume."

"You're awfully polite today."

"One might think." Holmes now turned to face his friend. Watson stood with his back straight, his overcoat folded over his left arm. A smile danced over his lips, a smile Holmes just couldn't resist. He too broke up in a light smile. "Ah, where are my manners; some whisky, old boy?"

"It's not even past five yet." The detective blinked slowly, how long time had really past since his last shot? Watson's clothes told him it was Sunday, as the other man never used his most expensive waistcoats when he was at work, only on his now rare visits to Baker Street. He sure never dared to use them when they lived together as there was a big chance they would get somewhat ruined.

"Tea then?"

"Pleasure." Watson took of his coat and hat, placing them on a footstool nearby, before sitting down in his old chair. Holmes quickly prepared a can of Earl Grey and then placed himself in the chair closest at hand. He poured the hot tea in silence, waiting for his friend to tell him what was on his heart. It was quite humorous actually.

"Holmes." The doctor finally said after a few careful sips of the hot drink.

"Yes?"

"Where exactly is Gladstone?" Holmes gave him a glance with wide eyes, not the question he had expected. Maybe the doctor wanted to chat a little before, which meant it was something serious.

"I believe Mrs. Hudson took him for a walk seventeen minutes ago. Why?"

"Thought I might as well ask. Cannot say I'm not worried about him."

"He's just fine." The detective smiled with a nod. He placed the cup he had been holding gently back on its plate. "He misses you though." He added with a small frown, like he was concerned. It was true though, their dog did miss Watson but it was nothing to be worried about.

"How do you know that?" Watson looked rather surprised, but mostly interested.

"He… he seems a little restless these days." Holmes answered slowly; he really hoped they would stick to the damn dog. The chance that Watson would visit more often would probably sink like a rock if they had another argument when he finally did.

"Too bad I missed him then."

"You can always come back another day."

"Of course." The other man replied with a smile at the corner of his lips and Holmes found himself returning the smile.

As their conversation continued with a light touch, Holmes started to wonder if his friend would ever tell him what troubled him. Watson sure made no intentions clear what so ever, yet his movement pattern told the detective something was bothering him. As they talked Holmes started to wonder what it could be, something to do with Gladstone perhaps? Though it was surely not about the dog, it was of course about Miss Morstan. It was always about her.

Frankly, Holmes could not understand why he had to marry her in the first place. Not that he had anything against his friend's happiness; it was her whom he did not like. Or rather, _approved _of. She could never make the doctor happy, not in the long run. She would never be able to understand him fully; they were too unlike and had lived too different lives. True be that she liked him, but she would never be able to love him for all his faults. Holmes was sure a part of Watson knew this, yet he married the girl. Why couldn't he turn his face from what the city thought and listen to his own happiness? He needed to stop caring so much about what others thought of him.

Even if the dear doctor's dilemma was because of his wife there was still something the detective wondered about. Something that had bugged him the very moment Watson had entered his room.**  
**  
"There is a thing I cannot set my finger on."

"And what could that be?"

"Why do you have a small scent of blood on you, Watson?" The scent had first made him believe it was a regular working day, even though the smell form the clinic was missing. It was when he saw Watson that he understood the blood must come from the man himself.

"It's probably from the clinic."

"You don't work on Sundays."

"I am wearing the same waistcoat as yesterday, most likely why." Watson answered nonchalantly, brushing away non existing dust from his clothes. He probably whished he had not taken of his coat as his alibi was really bad. At least against Sherlock Holmes.

"Do not lie to me."

"I am not, you are just imagining things."

"_Imagining_? You know you can't fool me." Holmes wanted to laugh, since when did he make up facts? He could see how Watson's muscles tensed when he lied; he was like an open book to him.

"I am not lying!"

"Really, Watson, you should see how you tense up. "

"I'm going." Watson said shortly and stood up, turning away. Holmes quickly got up and grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving. He opened his mouth to leave a comment how funny Watson looked when he tried his best to hide his lies, but his words got stuck in his throat as he saw his friend's grimace when he grabbed his arm. There was a moment of silence.

"You're hurt."

"It's just a mere scratch." Watson replied, avoiding the other man's eyes.

"No less an injury."

"Let me go." The doctor made an attempt to free his arm, but Holmes refused to let go. He dragged him closer instead.

"Show it to me." He tried to undo the button that were preventing him from sliding the sleeve up, as Watson struggled to get away.

"No, I am the doctor. Let go of my arm." The doctor tried to stop Holmes by grabbing his shirt with his free arm, keeping him on an arm's length away. It didn't take long before they both were wrestling, both too stubborn to give in.

"Not until you show it to me."

"Stop it!"

"_Show me!"_

"_Holmes!_" Watson cried and finally managed to push the other man off himself. They stood, both panting heavily, in silence.

"What happened?"

"I told you, it's just-"

"What happened, Watson?"

"The signboard for the bakery down at Fleet Street fell down. It was my own fault for not moving out of the way." Watson finally said, his voice now calm like it used to.

"You were directly under it as it fell." Holmes watched as his friend got dressed, his mind was already analysing the facts he had got from the whole visit. Watson didn't say anything till he was ready to go. He faced to door.

"Say hi to Gladstone from me, and Mrs. Hudson while you're at it." "Holmes, you did not happen to send…" his voice trailed off, leaving a slightly curious Holmes.

"Send you what, old boy?"

"Nothing. I just wanted to confirm something."

"Watson, you know I can tell from-"

"I know, Holmes. I know." Watson sighed and left, closing the door as he did.

Holmes blinked at the door. He blinked again, before quickly making his way to the window that was facing the street. Dr. Watson's was quickly walking away down there, away from Holmes. The detective looked at him while scratching the back of his head thoughtfully; he wondered if Watson would mind if he followed him, in a disguise of course. Well, he surely would, but then again he wouldn't have to find out about it.

As he carefully added his fake nose and thought of a suitable character, another thought crossed his mind. Watson would not get company for the day; the hotel above the bakery at Fleet Street would receive another guest.

He looked at his own reflection in the mirror. The cover was prefect, as always.**  
**

**To be continued.**  


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**Author's Notes** (_hm, more like Mello's statements of randomness_): Hola mis comrades! I'm actually not sure what to say right now, probably because I should be studying biology and my lines for the two plays I'm in, instead of watching **_Tropic Thunder_**. But it's sooooooooo funny. Robert Downey Jr. is amazing! Humhum what more? I watched Sherlock Holmes with my brother and father at the movies today, very nice! they both liked it, which made me happy. And I was dressed in my new waistcoat and suspenders, hohoh, I looked rather good, if one may say so. (I simply adore that fashion!)  
Working on chapter three now, it's.. it's.. I don't know... angsty? A big part between Watson and Mary. But fear not, my friends, Holmes saves the chapter by being the wonderful man that he is... and fluff! Yeah, you heard me. I do hope people get that this will turn into a Holmes/Watson Watson/Holmes fiction? CAUSE IT WILL. They simply have to understand they can't quit each other, and deep down wants to make love like crazy, first. Nuff said.  
Hahahah I really shouldn't say that I have nothing to say, because I always end up with endless randomness here. DON'T SAY YOU DON'T LIKE IT. or do you? D8

Thanks again to my wonderful beta-readers Danne and Sara, and to my new one: Natta! (who btw is my Holmes, check my Deviantart for more info)

And a big thanks to **raven612** here on FF! You're such a nice person, waaaaah! _**-hugs-**_

A big YESYES to reviews, I _love_ them! Please leave on before you go, pretty please? I promise to write more about our beloved detective and doctor if you do. And constructive criticism (or what it's called) is highly appreciated since I really want to get better at this! YEAH! _**-fighto-**_

**THANK YOU FOR STOPPING BY!** Wish you all a wonderful time until next time!


	3. I will not bow

No summary, I won't do them anymore c_c**  
Rating:** T **  
Pairings:** John/Mary (_OMG! D'8 but also some BROMANCE._)**  
Disclaimer:** These lovely characters belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but apparently is Andrea Plunket executor of Conan Doyle's estate and owner of the rights to the detective series. Guy Ritchie owns the film that inspired me.  
Well, I'm merely borrowing them for my stories, created with my twisted fangirl mind.

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**I will not bow  
**

**By AnimeBride**

**Mello**

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**John Watson  
**

Watson was in fact not mad at Holmes; he knew his friend only cared for him. Yet he decided it was probably best not to see him until he was sure the _accidents_, as he had started to call them, did not occur anymore.

He had not really noticed them at first, but when he had almost been crushed under the sign for the bakery at Fleet Street he knew something was wrong. It made him wonder. Nothing worth mentioning had really happened after the cake, except for the carriage that almost ran him over one day after work, or the man who had almost pushed him of a bridge when he ran past him, or the accident at the construction place, or- Well. There had been awfully many accidents lately.

Still, he did not want to trouble anyone about it, these days were behind him now. It was surely his own fault for not being careful enough.

"John, what have you done to your face?!" Mary cried as soon as the doctor had come home.

"There was a little incident at the clinic, nothing to worry about," he replied calmly as she inspected the big patch on his face with an upset face. He had been supposed to remove splinter from a patient's arm. Just as he was about to start the man was overwhelmed by panic and managed to push the knife straight upwards back towards him, cutting deeply into the doctor's cheekbone. The result was now a red, nasty looking wound that had bled quite a lot.

"What in the world happened?"

"I was helping Mr. Brown and apparently the poor man had a phobia for knifes."

"It's frightening. What people can do when they are scared, I mean." Mary shook her head slightly with a mournful face.

"This was really nothing. I've experienced far worse in-"

"In Afghanistan, I know," she filled in, shortly. "This is London, John. You need to forget about that now." She walked into the tearoom, followed by Watson who gave his outdoor clothes to the maid, who then left them alone.

"It is not easy, Mary. It is a big part of me." He said towards her back. He had seen it too many times, more than he wanted to count. And he could still see it every time he closed his eyes.

She had her arms crossed, as always when she thought she had made her point clear. There was a pause before she spoke again, now quietly.

"I thought I was too." Watson sighed and smiled, though it made his cheek hurt, she was just worrying about him. How could he be hard on her, when she was really just scared of losing him? He was such a fool sometimes.

He quietly walked up to her, sliding his strong arms around her fragile body as he placed a light kiss on her shoulder.

"Of course you are, my sweet love."

"Promise?" Mary whispered and slowly placed her hands on his. He could feel how she relaxed.

"Promise." Her shoulder received another kiss, then her neck.

"I just want you home safe with me, John. Please don't worry me like that."

He loosened his embrace, so she could turn around. Their lips found each other; Watson pressed his wife closer till himself. He loved the feeling of the pressure of her body. Mary inhaled sharply and her slim fingers soon found their way up in his hair. He continued to carefully kiss her soft lips but it didn't take long before he was placing kisses along her cheekbone, following it up to her ear. A light kiss nibble was placed by her ear as he easily removed his coat with her help. The waist coat followed right after. Watson continued to kiss her neck lustfully, moving down to the collarbone. He could feel how Mary shivered as he kissed along it, slowly unbuttoning her shirt.

His lips then found hers again, they were both eager after more. It was now Watson who received several light kisses; he closed his eyes in pleasure. It was like whispers against his sensitive skin, whispers about what would come. He shuddered as he removed his suspenders from his shoulders and then started to open his shirt. It slid off him, bit by bit, the warmth was replaced by her sweet kisses.

"John!" She suddenly cried.

"What is it, Mary?" The doctor asked, not completely focused.

"Please be so kind and explain to me how you got that, _at the clinic_." Watson looked down at his left arm. The bandages were removed but one could still see the wounds. He had completely forgotten about them, as well as the fact that he hadn't yet told his wife about them. Blast it.

"Well, I wasn't exactly there when-"

"You were with Mr. Holmes, weren't you? Without telling me!" She quickly closed her shirt; he followed her example and putted his shirt back on. Now neither of them had to see the injury, at least.

"No, this have nothing to do with-"

"Oh please, John. You don't need to be a famous detective to see that, I'm not stupid."

"Of course not, Mary. If you would just let me explain…"

"I'm going to bed."

"Mary!"

"Good night."

She turned her back against him and walked off with determined steps, keeping her head high. Watson sat down roughly on the nearest chair. He took a deep breath while burying his face in his hands, which unfortunately caused him pain in the new wound. He sighed. Was there no end to this?

* * *

Two weeks passed and the Watson couple somehow overcome their fight. They soon stopped talking about it and both waited and whished for they day would both have forgotten about it. The young doctor continued to work hard, just like he had always done. People seemed to be very fond of him and his skills, something he treasured highly. Everything seemed at peace, at last. Though he still kept an eye open for… Well, he wasn't quite sure yet.

Maybe was it just because of that fact that he heard something that caught his interest one night after work. There was voice filled with complains coming out of a dark alley. One could barely hear them, but he knew he had. He followed the noises, the doctor inside of him responding. It sounded like someone was in pain. It did not take too long until he saw a silhouette of man resting against the wall. He looked quite old, beard covered his face but it was too dark to really tell. He appeared to be rather drunk.

"Excuse me, my good man?" Watson got down on his knees in front of the man, inspecting him. He now saw the man was clenching a gun in his hands.

"_No use, it's no use…_"

"Please, I am a doctor. Give the revolver to me and I will assure you-"

"_No, no, no, no!_" the man cried violently and raised the gun, pointing it towards his own head.

"**Don't!**" Watson quickly tried to strike the gun out of the man's hands with his cane, but he was too late. There was a loud bang that echoed through the alley as the gun was fired. But it did not hit the old man.

"Argh!" Watson cursed under his breath as the sharp sting in his left arm slowly spread, making his whole arm scream in pain. Once he looked at the man to check that he wasn't intending to pick up the gun from the ground where it now lay, he saw sheer panic in the grey eyes. Yet something else seemed to overcome him as their eyes met. He opened his mouth, but a hard push from the old man stopped Watson's words before he could utter them. Watson saw how the man grabbed the pistol and then quickly made his way out of the alley, without turning even once.

He was not quite sure how he got the strength to return to the clinic, remove the bullet all by himself and then stubble home. He was just glad that he had. One of the doctors that worked the night shift would surely help him gladly, no doubt, but Watson somehow had the feeling it was better if he just did it himself. Unnecessary questions which he wasn't sure he knew the answer to would remain pleasantly unasked, at least for a while.

He didn't allow himself to take it easy until the door was properly closed behind him; he rested heavily in his favourite chair with a bottle of gin in his healthy hand.

"John, is that you?" Mary soundlessly walked into the room, dressed in only her long, white nightdress.

"It was not my intention to wake you up, darling."

"May I ask where you have been?"

"There was an accident at work," he lied tiresomely, not really in the mood for a cross-examination.

"Are you hurt?" she asked after a pause.

"I'm afraid I am."

"Oh John," Mary cried. "How? You're a doctor." She eyed the bloody shirt, under which she the bandages were applied, with fear and disgust.

"These things do happen."

"And you weren't with _him_?"

"No. How many times do I have to tell you that?" Watson answered, feeling his irritation rising within him.

"It just seemed a little strange…" she trailed of, expecting him to counter with an explanation. Mary did not get one. Watson simply rose from the chair with a sigh before carefully placing the bottle on the coffee table. He then made his way to the hallway were he put on his jacket and coat with some trouble due to his left arm.

"Where are you going at this hour?" Mary asked sounding surprised, he could see her pride was hurt by his actions.

"I need to be somewhere else right now. Bye." There was a short moment of silence when he closed the door behind him, defiantly not caring what his wife thought of him at the moment. The only thing he could think of was how tired he truly was. He wanted to somewhere safe, a place where he could just… be.

He longed after 221B Baker Street and its company as well.

* * *

"Watson." Holmes said and played a last tone on the violin before putting it down as he turned to face the doctor.

"Right. Sorry to disturb you at this late hour." Watson said with a weak smile. He shook the hand the detective offered him and then sat down in the chair Holmes nodded towards. A certain pile of notes and scribbles on the messy desk caught his attention.

"What are you working on?"

"Oh, I was merely putting some documents about some simple cases in their rightful place," Holmes answered with slight evasion as he poured two glasses of whiskey.

"I know you never take a case that doesn't interest you."

"Simple cases can be interesting at start." Holmes handed one of the glasses to Watson before sitting down in his favourite chair. "And besides, I was forced to accept a few."

"You were?" Watson smiled rather surprised and curious.

"Blame that damn woman, I surely do." He knew Holmes meant Ms. Hudson. They both laughed and raised their glasses to a cheer.

"And now, my dear Watson, I can assure you this is simply pure formality, but I must ask you this. How come you're here, and not with your caring wife?" Watson took another sip, feeling how the strong drink warmed his stomach. He knew he shouldn't' be drinking so shortly after the event but he simply chose to cast away that fact for this time. There was a pause before he slowly answered.

"We had an argument."

"About your new wound, I assume?" Holmes looked at him with intensive, brown eyes.

"Yes."

"Who shot you?" Watson wasn't even surprised he knew, since he probably smelled strongly of gunpowder or something like that. He rubbed his forehead gently, knowing what most likely would come if he knew Holmes right. Which he did.

"Was it the same person that gave you that cut? It's healing remarkable well, you know. I believe it was quite deep?"

"Holmes, I don't want to talk about it."

"But you should! If you tell me everything I can unquestionably-"

"I do not want your help!" Watson shouted and hastily stood up, turning his back to his friend.

"Then why did you come here?" Holmes asked heatedly and somewhat taken aback, also he rising from the suite.

"I-" Watson started, but found he had no answer to it, none that would make any sense. "I do not know." He was just so tired of everything. Was it too much to ask for a normal life with a wife that cared and loved him? Something surely any man dreamt of.

"Watson, I-" The black haired man started, but was shortly cut off.

"I do not wish to hear another word from you."

It seemed like the detective of Baker Street decided for once to listen to his friend. No words were spoken. Watson jumped slightly in surprise when he felt a strong hand sliding up on his left shoulder. He was ready to tell the other man to shut up and let him go, but as Holmes did not say anything at all he said neither of it himself. He instead watched as another hand wrapped itself around and up till his right shoulder. He found himself in a rather awkward embrace that did not hurt his left arm at all. Holmes then slowly and quite tenderly rested his forehead against Watson's right shoulder. The doctor could feel how his friend sighed lightly against him.

He did not know how long he just stood there, with Holmes clumsily holding him, and he actually did not care the slightest. There were no expectations of him, no one to act strong in front of. He did not whish to say anything either. He only wanted to just _be_, if merely for a few seconds longer.

The embrace ended at last and Watson now felt how his whole body screamed by exhaustion. He gave Holmes a weak smile that was returned by a warm one. But when he walked towards his old room the detective opened his mouth to imply something. What ever it could be was stopped by a raised hand.

"Ah." Watson understood what Holmes had wanted to warn him about, his bed was completely stuffed with junk. Unfinished experiments, as Holmes would have called it. He pointed towards Holmes room and the other man nodded nonchalantly from the chair where he had placed himself once again. It seemed like he was deeply thinking of something.

"Thank you." The doctor said quietly with gratitude before entering the bedroom.

"Good night, Watson."

"Good night, Holmes." He answered while gently closing the door. He was glad the other man couldn't see him as he failed to suppress a smile he did not whish for. As he finally lay down beneath the cover he was rather surprised sleep did not come to him right away. Events over the past weeks haunted his mind and body, and he felt restless. He carefully turned to lie on his healthy arm, dragging the sheet higher up. Watson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, realizing now how strongly the bed smelled of Holmes. Not that it was a weird fact, nor did it smell bad. Truths to be told, it made him relax.

The soft tones of Holmes violin was the last thing Watson heard that night.

**To be continued.**

* * *

**  
Author's Notes: **I've been such a good writer, haven't I? **_–expects pats on my head-_** I can't go to school due to the bad weather (the metro isn't working outdoors in this clod and the traffic is fucked up because of that, so no busses either) so I have been working really hard. Yosh! Been studying and cleaning my room, but mostly written and watching the films Chuck lend me the other day.  
I'm really tired now so I should join my big kittycat in bed. (and I tend to get too random when I'm tierd)  
I hoped you liked his chapter; I made it longer since I wanted to it to have certain parts. Hoho. Please don't kill me for the John/Mary part, its necessary! I PROMISE. I mean, it's not like they're _not _sleeping with each other… and I wanted to write this part so he can compare it later to… moahah. Though I had almost forgotten how to write slash between heterosexual couples. I BLAME ZOSAN (Zoro and Sanji from the manga/anime One Piece). argh.  
Anyhoo-! Please look forward till next chapter; I sure do, since well… hehe 8DD

THANKS FOR ALL THE KIND REVIEWS! Boy, I love them so much, wihihih. _**–runs off, giggling-**_

...... And a big thank you to Sara and Danne! (thought I had forgotten about you, huh, huh, huh? ;D)

**SEE YA NEXT TIME, FELLOW DETECTIVE AND DOCTOR-LOVERS!**


	4. Next to Nothing

**Rating:** T **  
Pairings:** BROOOOOMANCE.... and well, more in the end ;)**  
Disclaimer:** These lovely characters belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but apparently is Andrea Plunket executor of Conan Doyle's estate and owner of the rights to the detective series. Guy Ritchie owns the film that inspired me.  
Well, I'm merely borrowing them for my stories, created with my twisted fangirl mind.

**NEW NAME BECASUE I CHANGED SOME OF THE STORYLINE. This fits better :)**

* * *

**Next to nothing**  
**By AnimeBride**  
**Mello**

* * *

**Sherlock Holmes**

Ever since Watson had got his health back from the war injury he suffered from his service in Afghanistan he had always been awake and already dressed when Holmes woke. Not that the detective slept longer than anybody else. It was just the doctor who had the habit at waking up in unchristian hours.

This morning however, Watson slept far longer than he normally did. Holmes could only speculate why, one explanation worse than the other.

"I trust the night was to your likening," He greeted the man as he finally came out from the room, dressed in a striped shirt and a dark blue waistcoat, clothes that Holmes had happened to forget to give back once he moved.

"Indeed it was."

"Please," Holmes made a gesture to the already set table. He had heard when the doctor had awakened and used the time he dressed himself to get Mrs Hudson to prepare some proper breakfast for them both.

They sat down, like they had done so many times before, and helped themselves. Holmes looked at his friend with concerned eyes, Watson looked really tired. He still had bags under his bright eyes, despite the long nights sleep. It troubled Holmes to see him like this.

"And how is your arm?" He asked as he took a large bite of his scones.

"I can expect a fever to company me this evening," Watson answered lightly and Holmes nodded understanding.

"Shame on the man who expects an easy recovery," he said with a wink and received a grin from his friend.

Their conversation continued, they had always found it easy to speak to each other and when they did not, silence was not an unwelcome thing either.

"I suppose there is no point in asking where you were all night?" Watson said suddenly.

"No, since you already know." The black haired man answered with a calm voice, he had spent the night in the alley where Watson had been shot. He was sure his friend knew him good enough to guess that.

"Okay, I will tell you," the doctor sighed after a shot pause.

"I'm glad you are, Watson," Holmes smiled truly.

Holmes listed to his friend's story with great interest, only interrupting once he wanted more details about something in particular.

"What more of the last encounter?"

"I saw nothing."

"On the contrary, Watson, you saw everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you saw. Like I have told you before, you see, but you do not observe."

"Like you do."

"Yes. I wanted to consult with you before speaking of the matter. One should always have all the data before making a conclusion."

"What did you observe when you were there this night then?"

"Well, first of all there were the footsteps. They were a bit skewed, but I trust you said the man did not halt. I could therefore come to the conclusion that he was wearing some kind of costume to hind his real look from you. And I know by experience the pattern of those boots are often used-" Holmes stopped and looked at Watson with concern. He really looked worn-out.

"Pray continue."

"I can simply skip to the end if you whish so. You look tired, my friend," one thing he liked the most about Watson was his ability to listen. Yet how much he liked to reveal his conclusions to his dear friend something told him the latter was in more need for rest than his stories.

"Just tell me where we're going and I shall be on my way."

"There are some things I need to look through now that I have your story fresh in mind. You can sleep an hour or two while I do so."

"Promise not to leave without me?"

"I'll cross my heart," he made a cross over his heart with his right hand while holding up his left. Just like he had seen some kids do on the street. Watson looked at him for a moment, probably deciding whether he could trust him or not, before finish his breakfast with a considerable lighter appearance.

The new facts Holmes had been told during their conversation had indeed thrown a little more light over the case he had secretly worked on. The pile of notes on his desk was in fact notes and scribbles of what was happening to Watson. He had become quite sure of everything, especially after his night out. With the new facts he was sure of where they should look for more answers.

Watson woke up four hours later and they waited until the evening before they left Baker Street. Holmes insisted they would have more success with the help of the dark.

* * *

The trail led them to an old bearing house; it hadn't been used for at least a year. They stopped before the dark, rusty door.

"Now, Watson, put your shoulder to it, and we shall see whether we cannot make our way in," the door opened quite easily and revealed a dark corridor. As they made their way in, slowly, Holmes noticed something in the air that caught his suspicion. The smell of salt, another human body.

"I think, doctor, that it would be as well for you to have your pistol ready." He said with a low voice and searched his own pockets at the same time, only to find his revolver was not where it was supposed to be. Watson nodded and did as he was told.

They came to an end, the corridor parted into a door to the right and one to the left. Footsteps could be heard from the right door, but a crash from the left made them look at each other.

"Let's go and get some work done," Holmes said with a grin and opened the right.

"Yeah, let's go and get killed," Watson countered and turned left.

The detective walked into a quite big room filled with boxes and found himself staring down the black hole of a gun. He quickly threw himself to the floor as the fist bullet was fired. Another man came out from the shadows and joined the fight. Holmes dodged and did his best to fight back.

There was a moment where all one could hear was the sound of three humans fighting. A moment that seemed to be lasting forever. He somehow managed to knock the first one, who appeared to be a ginger man most likely from Scotland, into a state where he wouldn't be able to fight back for at least four months and the other one, a tall, slim black haired man, just unconscious.

"We figured you wouldn't be able to keep your slimy fingers off this case," Holmes turned around. It seemed like the latter was apparently still awake.

"Another way of putting it, nevertheless yes. You might as well tell me the reason for this whole circus now," a nasty smile Holmes did not like danced over the other man's lips.

"Don't think so highly of yourself, detective. It's not over yet, well, maybe for him, but not for you," Holmes could not help but to glare towards the corridor. "You think we didn't know you would surely find us?"

"What have you done to him?"

"Do not fear. It will only be a matter of time before you meet him," a loud noise was suddenly heard, the sound from a gun.

"Indeed it will," Holmes answered shortly and left the room, the other man's laughter echoing behind him. He opened the other door in the corridor and hurried inside. There was no one there.

"_Watson!_" he cried while running towards the door at the other side of the room. It took him into a raw, cold room. A large man and a little kid were knocked down on the floor. Watson was standing in the centre.

"Holmes?" he turned around and stumbled, Holmes was quickly there to catch him. "I never thought they would use the kid, they caught me off guard." The detective saw the empty injection on the floor and felt how something cold grabbed his heart by the sight of the cut on his friend's throat. They had shot him where he couldn't cut the vein to get the poison out.

"What should I do?"

"There's no use, it's already in my veins -"

"What _can_ I do, Watson!?" Holmes cried as despair filled him. Their eyes met. It could not end like this, he would not accept it! He lowered himself and putted his own dry lips to the hot skin. Holmes did not know how long he continued to just suck out the blood from the wound and then spit it out, and he didn't really care. All he cared about was to get the deadly injection out from his beast friend's body.

"I think, old boy, that is quite enough," Watson finally said and Holmes stopped to look at the man in his arms. He looked really pale, yet it was something else in his eyes too.

"You are the doctor. You think that made it?"

"Maybe. Only time will tell."

"Come on, my friend. Let's go," Holmes carefully helped Watson back up and insisted to have a supporting arm around him. They started to make their way out from the room.

"And here comes the fever," Watson said with a crooked smile as they were out of the house. Holmes frowned; he did not like the situation at all. He only nodded and kept his focus on getter the two of them the hell away from there.

"Wait, Holmes. Let me rest a bit."

"What do I do, Watson?" Holmes asked as he placed the taller man against the nearest wall as gently as he could. They were alone in a slightly lighted alley.

"It's up to my body now, if it can defeat the small amount of poison or not."

"And if not?"

"Let's just hope for the first," Watson answered with a weak smile, trying to prevent his body to tremble too much from the pain. Holmes watched him closely as he kneeled down in front of him.

"I heard there's a new theatre coming to town soon," he said suddenly, hoping for a respond. He did not receive any.

"I have a case I could really use your help with."

"Really?" Watson looked at him with glassy eyes, trying to focus on his friend.

"Yeah, it's really interesting," there was no reply; he had to get his attention again. "How's Mary?"

"Fine, I believe," the words trailed of slightly in the end, like he was drifting away with them. Holmes could feel how a cold feeling inside of him spread.

"Come on, Watson, speak!" He grabbed his friend by his chin and forced him to meet his eyes.

"About what?"

"Frankly, I don't give a damn, " Holmes answered surly, but he then knew it."About me."

"You?"

"Yes, what you really think of me."

"You, Holmes," Watson paused and gave him a long glance, "are by far the most complicated, stubborn, most weird man –"

"Oh no, please don't flatter me."

"I have ever had the pleasure to meet. And I'm truly happy to have you by my side," Watson finished and smiled warmly. Holmes grip around his chin loosed and he felt… warm again. He returned the smile and offered Watson his hand. They had done it, the poison was gone.  
**  
**The doctor stayed the night at Baker Street but insisted that he could return to his own household the very same afternoon. Holmes did not object _that_ much, he felt an urge to be alone for once.

The days pasted and turned into weeks, Holmes did not attend to any new cases. He simply did not want to. His mind was set on other things, somewhat unpleasant things. Drugs became the method he frequently used to sharpen his mind to the point where he actually could sort the thoughts out. At last he came to the very point when he himself did not like the way he had become due to all the cocaine. An unplanned visit from Watson forced him to get hold on the reality for a moment and realize he could not continue on the path he now walked on. Or well, more like crawled on, to be precise.

He started to deal with his thoughts like they were facts on a new case. Data, data, data; he could work with that. It did not take him long before he realized he needed to deal with them, practically.

* * *

"Have you heard from her, after the case was closed?" Watson asked and waved his cigar towards the photograph of Irene Alders. He had joined Holmes for dinner and they were now enjoying a good smoke and drink together. Watson had asked if Holmes did not wish to company him in the sofa, but the latter had simply placed himself in a chair opposite it. Holmes did not like the times when Watson reeked of his wife.

"No. I have taken the liberty to study her but I haven't had any real contact with her."

"It's the first time you've ever done that, am I right?"

"That close, yes," Holmes answered honestly.

"How come?"

"She is the first woman who has ever outsmarted me."

"Only that?"

"I happen to find her fascinating."

"Poor woman," the doctor laughed and took a sip of his drink. Holmes smiled somewhat at the comment and they continued to smoke in silence.

"Do you know why all that happened?" Holmes suddenly said and nodded towards Watson's arm.

"Not really, no. I figured they had taken the wrong man."

"Oh, no, lad. They had gotten the right man," Holmes corrected him.

"What have I done to them?"

"One is as strong as his companion," Watson looked at him for a moment, the meaning of the words sinking in.

"They did all that, just to get you in the end?"

"I believe so."

"That's absurd."

"I wouldn't say, " the detective took a long smoke on his pipe before continuing. "They knew I would come for you in the end."

"Mary would kill me if I told her the real reasons behind my _accidents,_" Watson shook his head and chuckled low. He finished his drink and then put the empty gas one the small table.

"Isn't the wife supposed to be someone whom you can share everything with?" Holmes said serious as the grave, his dark eyes pinning his old friend.

"Well…"

"I take you, to be my husband, my constant friend, my faithful partner and my love from this day forward. –" Holmes started to quote with a high voice.

"Holmes, please don't-"

"In the presence of God, our family and friends, I offer you my solemn vow to be your _faithful partner in sickness _and in health, in good times _and in bad_, and in joy as well as _in sorrow_. "

"And for God's sake, stop highlighting certain parts!"

"_I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live_."

"What's your point?" The doctor said with a calm voice, though Holmes could see how he started to tense.

"Your wellbeing," Watson just looked at him with a plucked brow, so he continued. "She can't possible understand you. Just take your service in Afghanistan for an example."

"I've told Mary all about it," Watson answered truthfully.

"And how did she take it?"

"Like you can expect any woman to react at the brutality in war."

"Yet she does not understand it."

"Are you saying we war veterans can't get married?"

"Of course not, who would I be to make a statement like that? It's simply that you, being the excitement loving man you are, Watson, cannot. To her, at least."

"Don't be silly, Holmes."

"Then why can't you tell her the truth?"

"It's complicated," Watson answered after a short pause.

"What _do_ you feel for her?"

"I like the way she smiles at me when I come home. How she smells in the morning. Her eyes when she looks at me, the caring touch of her hands."

"Do you love her?"

"I believe I do."

"Despite all her faults?"

"Yes."

"Does she love you despite yours?"

"I like to believe she does."

"Do you ever show them to her?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't blame me for trying my best."

"_Do_ you show them?"

"I'm merely a human."

"And?"

"You're just being rude now. Why are you asking anyway?" Watson sighed and gave Holmes a searching glance. The detective blinked slowly, putting down his own empty glass on the table before meeting the doctor's eyes.

"It seems like, my dear Watson; I have become more than just found of you."

* * *

**AN:** **THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIEWS**. Oh, and well, hello! I ALMOST KILLED HOTSON. Am I going to hell now? and if, may I take Holmes and Watson with me since they will be sinners after _**-gets a big spoilerlabel over my mouth-**_ muuuufffhhhhhuuuggg!! Okay, no spoilers. Did you enjoy the chapter?  
I have had the best winter sports holiday evaaah. Took it really easy with my dear Sherlock Holmes and his friend John Watson, ah I just love the stories. Then skiing with Chuck, I got brutally hit by a man on a snowboard though. Bastard!  
My librarian wanted me to borrow _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ with Jeremy Brett and David Burke. **OMG.** If you haven't seen it; DO IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. Ahem. **_–fixes my tie_**-  
I know I have said this before, but I need to say it again. WHY ARE YOU SO INSANELY NICE, **raven612**!? And you, yes you! **_-ponits at you-_** Go and read her Sherlock Holmes stories, I COMMAND YOU. They're awesome, just like the author herself. Yesssss **_-nods-_**  
A big thanks to Sara, of course. What would I do without you? No, seriously. Waaaaaah! _**-hugs-**_  
Oh, and THANK YOU, Kuma and TanTan! Your support means a lot for me.

Please leave a review, they m-m-m-make me happyyyy. :D


	5. Blow me away

**Rating:** T **  
Pairings:** Holmes/Watson, HECK YEAH!**  
Disclaimer:** These lovely characters belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but apparently is Andrea Plunket executor of Conan Doyle's estate and owner of the rights to the detective series. Guy Ritchie owns the film that inspired me.  
Well, I'm merely borrowing them for my stories, created with my twisted fangirl mind.

**

* * *

Blow me away  
By AnimeBride  
Mello  


* * *

**

It was outrageous. It was by far the strangest thing he had ever heard. It was sick. It was wrong. _It was so Holmes._

"Don't be absurd," Watson muttered when he finally found the ability to speak.

"I am not," his friend answered, looking at him with an extremely intense look. Watson swore there was a possibility you could drown in those brown eyes.

"That's impossible."

"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"

"What do you mean by it anyway?"

Holmes put his hands together and rested his elbows on his knees, like Watson had seen him do so many times before, "I'm fascinated by you."

"I'm honoured," Watson said honestly.

"As I am fascinated what you're doing to me."

"I beg your pardon?" Watson said surprised, was _he_ doing something?

"How should I say, what kind of feelings and reactions you provoke, and well, urges."

"Wait a moment here, old boy. Are you implying that you like me in the same way as Miss Adler?"

"Quite so."

"Listen, I don't know what you are going with this conversation but it ends now."

"I don't know that either and that fact makes it really intriguing."

"Holmes, you know love between two men are highly-"

"Who said anything about love?" Holmes interrupted abruptly with a surprised face that left Watson a bit taken aback.

"I fancy you did."

Holmes chuckled lightly and placed himself more comfortable in the chair again. "You are jumping to a conclusion before hearing all the facts, Watson. Shame on you."

"Please give me all the facts then," Watson replied, feeling how his face burned.

"Have you ever read some literature of the ancient Greek sort? Judging by your face, no. Well, I wouldn't either if it wasn't for a case, the circumstances could be followed… and I suppose I leave that story for another time. I know you are aware of my theories of the human brain, so I quickly tried to forget what I had read. Some parts wouldn't leave me though. They talked about a special bond between a friend to another friend."

"Special bond?" Watson repeated somewhat interested now.

"Yes. It was said to develop when the two males had become really close friends. They would seek each others company and treasure it. After a while they would even like to explore more of their relationship and one another."

"How do you mean?"

"Touch each other, for an example."

"That's insane!" Watson said heatedly and stood up. He walked over to the table, trying to give the impression that he did not care about the other man by picking up a book and opening it.

"I know you have thought the same," Holmes said calmly and Watson could feel the brown eyes burning in his back.

"I certainly have not."

"Oh, my dear Watson, I can read you as clearly as I can read the book your hands."

"Rubbish," the doctor snorted and turned page rather forcefully. His friend did not reply and Watson found him still looking at him in that calm and confident way when he turned around. He signed and put the book back on the table. He knew Holmes would never give in, and yet how much he tried to escape from the things he said it was somewhat right.

The doctor sat down again, taking a deep breath before finally meeting the other man's eyes. "Holmes, I'm not one of your experiments, one that you puts aside when it does not interest you anymore."

"Why of course, my dear Watson, that's what makes this even more important."

"Do I even dare to ask what you have on your mind?"

"We should be rational, of course," Holmes stood up and Watson watched him closely. He walked over and sat down next to the doctor, never breaking eye contact, "Examine it carefully, bit by bit," Watson looked at him with wide eyes, what did he really meant by that, did he even want to know? He wasn't sure what reply was a proper one so he just watched the detective guardedly.

"Would you be so kind and give me your hand, doctor?" Watson gave him a stare as if he was some kind of lunatic, but he then slowly reached out his right hand to Holmes who grabbed it with his own.

The doctor watched in silence as his friend studied his hand carefully. It actually felt like he was the patient for once. Holmes then started to examine the hand with his own. Slowly and gently at first, just like he had never seen one like it before. His face showed no emotion, it was the cold face he always had when he worked, but his eyes were glowing in a way Watson never had seen before.

Holmes then took a firm grip around it, like they were shaking hands. He frowned thoughtfully and then held the hand toward the light, the unpleased mood still on his face. His slim fingers ran among the knuckles, over the fingers and then back over the palm. Watson shifted a little, it did not exactly tickle, but he was not sure he liked the feeling the touch provoked.

Holmes had now touched every inch of skin that he could reach. He stared at the sleeve, at the dark button that prevented him from sliding the sleeve upwards.

He touched it lightly and then met Watson's wondering eyes, "Do you mind?"

The doctor shrugged, trying to act like it was nothing. Since that was exactly what it was. Nothing. He did not care the slightest about Holmes warm fingers, which now travelled over his arm. It did not bother him. Not at all. The tickling feeling it gave was definitely not spreading through his body like small needles, making him all warm inside.

"Okay, no. Stop it, Holmes," Watson said abruptly and moved his arm away from the detective. He stood up, trying to prevent the strange feeling from spreading any further. Holmes looked at him for a moment before also standing up.

"What about this then, not under, only on the clothes?" he said calmly, like it was something you asked every day. Watson sighed and opened his mouth to reply, but he did not find the words for it. It was something in his friend's eyes that told him that this was important for him. It was surprisingly hard to say no to Sherlock Holmes occasionally. He nodded slowly.

Watson did not even have the time to sit down before Holmes' hands were on him again. Once again careful at first, fumbling. He trailed the buttons of the waistcoat, up to the shoulders and carefully down along

Watson's arms. He tied their hands together, and then slid his fingers along Watson's before tracing the arms and chest again.

Watson closed his eyes and really tried to think of other things, like sunshine and cauliflowers. This was just like seeing the doctor, or when a child playfully discovers the body of an adult. It did not matter that Holmes was a grown up _man_ and apparently very fond of him.

Holmes had now moved behind him and a strange sound caught Watson's attention. He could feel his friend close to his neck. Too close. The sound again, was he sniffing on him!

"Now what in the world are you doing?" Watson asked with a surprised frown and tried to turn around, but Holmes held him in a firm grip and prevented him to do so.

"Using my senses."

They continued in silence and Watson found it harder and harder to focus on cauliflowers. Hell, it was hard to focus on _anything_. Except for Holmes and his bloody idea. His hands and breath was burning straight through the layers of clothes that separated them. Watson couldn't shake of the feeling of being watched, he knew his friend was most likely looking at him, but the feeling was so intense. He opened his eyes to find Holmes only an inch away from his face, staring straight into his own eyes with those dark brown of his. One of the detective's hands found it's way up in the doctor's hair and Watson found his voice to be a mere whisper.

"You never said anything about kisses."

"Neither are you right now," Holmes replied before doing the unspeakable.

John Watson had kissed his share of girls during the past years, he saw himself as an experienced man, so to speak. Yet this was _completely_ different. Mary had the habit of kissing him lightly, promising of more. Holmes literally almost slammed their mouth together. Their teeth scraped slightly before Holmes' hot lips were there, testing him. Holmes was indeed a talented man but Watson could tell this was a situation where his skills lacked. He would have given it more thoughts of not the hand on the back of his head kept sending shivers down his spine. He was used to shy giggle, sweet perfumes and blinking eyes. This hit him like the thunder, like a train from King Cross Station. Holmes tasted strongly of tobacco and whiskey, and something that Watson couldn't place. It reminded him of a rainy London day.

The thing that annoyed him the most, strangely, was the fact that Holmes eyes were opened, he still looked at him. The doctor broke the kiss as he couldn't ignore the feeling, how hard he closed his own eyes.

"You're supposed to close your eyes."

"Why?" Holmes asked with a puckered brow, "You can't see the other person's reaction if you do."

"I believe you should just try to feel it," Watson tried to explain, not really knowing if he was right or not. Holmes gave him a sceptical look before one again forcing their mouths together, now with closed eyes. It did not feel as strange as the fist time, but the doctor still felt like he had gotten a chock. The warm feeling inside him was now spreading, exhorted by every heard beat. Holmes' hands where travelling over the other's body, but Watson could not get his arms to move. He did not want to make the easy hard, so he remained still, only moving his now not so dry lips to meet Holmes'.

The detective however did not stay like that for long, his lips soon travelled over Watson's jaw, down to his neck. His quick fingers had soon undone the first buttons on the grey waistcoat and Watson had to suppress a moan in the back of his trough when Holmes kissed him on the sensitive placed on his neck. That effort made him realize what they were really doing, where they were going.

"Holmes, we can't do this. It's _wrong_ for Christ sake!" he cried and backed away from Holmes.

"Does it feel wrong?" Holmes said calmly, fixing a part of his hair that had become a bit ruffled.

"Come again?"

"Does it _feel _wrong?" he repeated with the same steady voice.

"I doesn't matter what I think."

"Your opinion is of great value, but I believe you're the one who is wrong here."

"You know very well what we were- t-that _thing_ is considered to be criminal," Watson snapped as he started to close his waistcoat, he found it quite hard as his hand wouldn't stop shaking.

"I fail to see how our little experiment can be so dangerous," the black haired man said indifferently.

"The church, Holmes. _The church_," Watson cried desperately.

"My dear friend, I apologize if I was a bit too pushy. But you need to stop fussing over the propriety of every little thing. You'll wear yourself out."

"_You're_ the one who's wearing me out."

"Please, if only for a mere moment, forget about that and lay all your focus on me," Holmes said and was in an instant that close again. His hot breath tickled over the doctor's lips.

"You are a man that is plainly hard to ignore, Holmes," Watson whispered as one of the detective's hand found its way up in his hair. He received a smile before Holmes captured his lips with his own. It felt like the floor broke under him and he was drowning. Holmes learned fast. Too fast. His hands were on Watson again, opening the waistcoat in one motion. Watson did not get much time to think about it since the hands found their way in under it, up over his back. Holmes burning lips were once again kissing his neck.

"Fuck," Watson hissed, it was wrong but so bloody good, "Fuck, no. No," Holmes had slid the waistcoat of him and was now opening the shirt, "No, _Holmes!_" Watson pushed him away once again took some steps away from him. Holmes looked at him and sighed before speaking.

"Can you tell me, Watson, how such a bad thing, I recall you put that label on it, can feel so good?"

"How should I know?"

"You're not eager to find out?" Holmes said with his low voice and was quickly there again.

"_Stop touching me!_" Watson cried, gripping the detective's wrists and forcing him brutally away. "I can't go any further," he added when Holmes met his eyes.

Seconds pasted as the two men looked at each other, none of them willing to speak. Holmes then walked over to the window, his face facing the streets. The dim light threw a hollow light over his features, that showed no emotion.

"There will be a long winter," Holmes finally said, his eyes looking into the distant. Watson could feel how his heart sank, he knew his friend did not mean the weather.

"Holmes, I -" he started as he walked up beside him but Holmes cut him off.

"I know."

Watson looked out over Baker Street feeling completely calm as he slid his own hand into Holmes. The detective griped it firmly, not uttering a word.

**To be continued**

* * *

Long time no see! ;AA; My school have been a living hell, I wouldn't survived there if it weren't for my fucktards there. I wanted to say that pressure kills my imagination (fangirlmind) but it doesn't. No, I'm serious! I always want to write when I'm solving math or physics problems, is that normal? But even I have a limit, had to prevent myself from even opening this document since I had too much to do. _**–sobs-**_ BUT NOW THIS CHAPTER IS FINISHED. HELL TO THE YEAH.  
I've started to get more active on youtube, mostly uploading Holmes/Watson videos.. heheh. Yeah. I've also joined the vlog train! It's really funny, but my camera got stolen by some bastards in my school during my theatre premiere of Mean Girls (don't ask) so I can't vlog for a while. _**–sad face-**_ AND! I've made a video of the first chapter of this fanfiction! :DDD That should be quite interesting for you guys, am I right?  
What more to say? Stabilo and The Ark is my new drug when it comes to music and I'm going away for two weeks now. Confirmationcamp, just like last year. AND SUMMER CONVENTIONS HERE I COME! UAAH! And a week in Spain too! Shame my Spanish sucks…. Ah well 8D  
**THANK YOU FOR ALL THE REVIWES, YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST.** You totally rock my socks.  
Sara is as fabulous as ever and helped me with this chapter. You're awe-mah-zing, you know that right? _**–hugs and kisses-**_  
SHERLOCK HOLMES HAVE _FINALLY_ BEEN RELISED ON DVD HERE AND I DON'T HAVE THE MONEY FOR IT. WHY CRUEL WORLD, _WHY!_


	6. In the darkness of the night

**Rating:** M (_FINALLY!_) **  
Pairings:** BROOOOOMANCE and Holmes/Watson, but mostly Watson/Holmes**  
Disclaimer:** These lovely characters belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but apparently is Andrea Plunket executor of Conan Doyle's estate and owner of the rights to the detective series. Guy Ritchie owns the film that inspired me.  
Well, I'm merely borrowing them for my stories, created with my twisted fangirl mind.

* * *

**In the darkness of the night  
****By Mello**  
**Animebride**

* * *

**Sherlock Holmes **

_Laugh it off._ Holmes had heard people do it and seen even more do it. It was a quite common way of dealing with the fact that you had come to the point of no return. He had never used seriously, if you had a problem, deal with it. It was not harder than that.

Until now.

He had tried to deal with Watson in the way he thought had been the best, the only logical way. There had been some results, but over all not what he had expected. It had proven to be the wrong way of handle the whole thing for the doctor. Was there even a right way for them to deal with it?

He had come to realise after a week or two that Watson was much more comfortable by the question if they tried to talk about it as lightly as possible. It was just a silly little thing, one among many other experiments. Holmes knew that was not really the case and he also knew his friend was aware of it. But he would play along with whatever Watson felt most comfortable with. If he simply wanted to laugh about it, fine. As long as it gave results.

"_Holmes!_" the detective twitched and rubbed the little sleep he had managed to get out of his eyes. It was better to be awake when the hell broke loose.

Three minutes and one shout later the bedroom door flew open with a loud slam and an extremely upset John Watson entered the room. Just as predicted.

"And here comes the cavalry", Holmes muttered with a tiered grin as he rested carefully on one of his elbows to get higher up.

"Sherlock Holmes!" the doctor cried, slamming the door behind him.

"Pleasure to see you too, Watson."

"I have not heard from you for more than a week and when I occasionally met Mrs Hudson what do I hear? You've gone and hurt yourself!" he walked over to the bed where Holmes' smile changed into a theatrical grimace.

"Not more than usual. Nasty little devil, that man. I dare say it was foul play."

"Holmes," Watson sighed and sat down on the bed.

"Here", Holmes grabbed his coat and dragged him closer, "let me have a look at you", he then put his hands on his friend's cheeks, making his face look somewhat mashed and ridiculously funny, dragging him even closer.

"Oh, this is so charming."

"I'd say", Holmes replied slowly with a smile before letting go.

"Oh, Holmes," Watson sighed and rested his head heavily on the detective's shoulder. The latter's eyes travelled up in the ceiling, thoughtfully.

"Hm."

Watson looked up, "What?"

"Forgive me if I'm rude", Holmes started, his eyes travelling between the roof and the man, "but I believed there, for a mere moment, that you would actually kiss me."

"You never give up, do you?"

"Do you blame me for hoping?" he smiled and met Watson's eyes. The smile was returned with the kind one he had only seen on his friend's lips.

Those very gentle lips were on his own seconds later.

It started of as a very smooth kiss, as a sensitive greeting. They kissed slowly, letting their lips meet time after time. The passion grew as they fully tasted each other and Holmes could literally feel his friend's hunger. Watson had changed during the last times they had have the pleasure to see each other. Holmes knew his wife had gotten quite ill lately and the poor woman did not seem to get any better. It affected the man greatly, both as husband and doctor. His behaviour when they had their _little moments_ had changed too. The uneasiness seemed to be replaced by a hunger. A hunger for something real, something that would not slip through his fingers.

Speaking of which, Holmes could feel Watson's fingers travel over his sore muscles and the only thing that disturbed him more than the fact that they were trembling was the throbbing pain from his right side.

"Ouch, I'm afraid my condition isn't exactly the most suitable for this now. But please, do hold on to that thought", he finally said, parting them from each other, trying not to grimace too much.

"Your condition? Holmes…" Watson started and tried to drag down the covers, Holmes hands were quickly there, preventing him.

"There is nothing down there for you to see, at least for now."

"Let me see", the taller man said shortly and met his friend eyes. Holmes sighed lightly but reviled his night dressed body. He was wearing a pair of loose pants and a big white shirt which was stained with blood. Watson lifted it up and exposed a badly bandaged wound.

"Unbelievable."

"One might think."

"Show me your arm."

"I know that you for some reason think I can't be on good terms unless I have used cocaine, but I can assure you, doctor, I have not taken any, today."

"Holmes, why did you not tell me?" Watson looked him in the eye.

"I believe I have the right to ask you the same, old chap", Holmes answered stubbornly, not looking away.

"Well, _I_ on the other hand can take care of myself."

"So can I."

"Really?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"You are a very silly man, Holmes, you know that?"

"No, I was actually not aware of that," Holmes answered nonchalantly, dragging up the covers again. He laid down with a sigh, his half open eyes catching the doctor's as they shared a moment of silence.

"You want another one?"

"What's your diagnose, doctor?"

There was a short pause before Watson answered, "Be quiet and take your medicine."

For once Holmes thought it was best not to argue. The doctor bended down and the detective could feel his hot breath tickle over his own lips, as he closed his eyes, but they did not meet his. The warmness vanished and Holmes could feel the intensive stare from those blue eyes. Cold fingers carefully brushed some hair away from his forehead and then trailed down his left side, along the jawbone. A thumb trailed Holmes' under lip and he had to prevent a shiver.

All his senses were uptight, catching everything. He could hear the bed slowly squeak as Watson leaned over him and rested his forehead against Holmes'. It felt cool compared to his own, and the detective tried his best to keep his calm breathing calm. Everything with Watson was just like this. So raw, so _here_. The rushes of emotions were not like the ones drugs gave, nothing like them actually. These dragged him right down to earth, but still gave him the wonderful feeling of lightness in his head. Holmes did not know what it was, but he wanted more of it.

He could hear how his friend's breathing changed and a soft whisper was barely heard, "Please be careful."

Holmes sighed and could not help the smile which danced over his lips; it only grew as he reached his hands up and reduced the space between them. It was a warm kiss and Holmes felt quite satisfied as they parted. He watched as Watson took on his gloves, ready to leave. A thought came to his mind.

"Would you like to accompany me?"

Watson gave the room a look, "Here?"

"Please do me the honour", Holmes moved himself to the bed's other end, giving some space for his friend.

"That is really inappropriate, Holmes."

"You think?"

"Yes, I do. What about Mrs Hudson?"

"What about her?" the black haired man asked and received a killing look, "Oh, yes. She have gotten strict orders to leave me alone for the rest of the day and I believed you locked the door to the stairs before marching in?"

"I was not marching", Watson muttered slowly.

"Of course you weren't. I would sleep so much better with a doctor close at hand," Holmes gave the free space a pat.

"No."

"I won't beg", he said calmly before adding, "Besides, it's not like it's the first time."

"Yes, but that was before you got those thoughts."

"I can assure you, Watson, the only one with impure thoughts, as you like to call them, here, is you."

The doctor looked at him for a moment, biting his lip, before pointing at his friend. "No snuggle."

"Please, what do you think of me?" Holmes asked with a grimace as he watched Watson take off everything down to shirt and pants, "Or wait, I know the answer to that mystery now."

"It was the fever talking", the taller man replied shortly as he made himself comfortable under the shared cover.

"Of course it was." Holmes agreed with a floating tone, very much enjoying the situation. The smile on his lips fades as his friend relaxed and he was able to get a proper look at him, "You look tired, my friend."

"Haven't really been sleeping properly lately," Watson answered with a sigh and rubbed his eyes. Holmes knew he spent all his time caring over his wife and was probably hunted by nightmares the few times he rested.

"Do you recall during the case which you named _Sigh of four_, when I played for you?"

Watson looked at him for a moment before answering slowly, as he thought back to the very day, "I remember how you took up the violin from the corner and started of with a low, dreamy melodious melody. Improvisation, I dare say. I vaguely remember your slim hands dancing over the strings, your earnest face, and the rise and fall of your bow. I floated peacefully away upon a sea of soft sound, until I found myself in dreamland."

"Yes?" Holmes said encouraging, he felt a pleasure, greater than he wanted to admit, when hearing it.

"… with the sweet face of Mary Morstan looking down upon me."

* * *

People prayed and people begged, but nothing could save the young woman. Mary Watson passed away, despite all her husbands tries.

Holmes had not felt anything against the woman, more then what he felt toward women in general, in the beginning. She had been one of his clients and given him a particularly devious case. Yes, she had just been one among many. Not worthy his time or mind.

It was what she did to Watson that slowly started to bug him. More than once had he turned to his friend for praise and found him too caught up in his own thoughts to even listen. She made him turn from him, _him_, Sherlock Homes!

What had she done that could be worth Watson's attention, a simple governess? She had never solved any cases or published any books. It was not right. Sadly, he was the only one who saw it logically, and he had to endure as his friend leaved and left him behind.

It seemed only reasonable that Watson should move back to 221b Baker Street when his wife died, it was where here belonged after all, smoking a cigarette with a brandy in the other hand in the shared room. Things seemed to be just as they had always been, for a while. Holmes noticed with pain that his friend laughed a little harder then before, gazed a little longer out of the windows then before, drank a little more than before.

It was one of these nights again; what had started as a fine time together was now heading for disaster. Watson had insisted in taking a few extra glasses and a discussion concerning it had lead of into a firely argumentation.

"You said you'd read me like a book, Holmes, but the pages are all torn and frayed", cried the doctor with despair in his voice, almost throwing the now empty glass onto the table.

"Come here," Holmes said slowly, with his calm, intensive eyes on his friend.

"No, I'm certainly not in the mood for those actions."

"Come. Here", he said again, not letting his friend escape from his eyes. Watson looked back with a puzzled face but then stood up, walked over to the sofa and sat down without uttering a word.

Holmes just looked at him before sliding his arms around him. He could feel how Watson tensed and tried to move away, but the grip only tightened. Holmes was not sure it was the right thing to do, he had never been a comforting person by nature, but he wanted to do something that could ease his beloved friend's pain. An inner relief spread in his chest when Watson finally relaxed and dug his fingers into his jacket, it seemed to work.

"I did not save her." The words, which were barely hear able, made the better mood disappear as fast as it had come.

"There was nothing you could do."

"I did not try enough; I should have done so much more."

Holmes ended the embrace and took a steady grip on his friend's shoulders, forcing Watson to look at him, "Listen to me, my dear Watson, you did all you could. Stop blaming yourself."

The older man did not answer. His strong hands were slowly placed on Holmes face as he freed himself to meet the detective's eyes. Holmes soon felt the warm forehead against his own and he closed his eyes as he presumed this would be one of those intense-feeling-moments.

A sound of surprise escaped his lips as Watson captured them with his own.

He did not protest when the doctor kissed his lips again, then his jaw. Then his throat. Then where his collarbone met his neck. Then his lips again. Holmes wrapped his arms around his friend and felt a rush of warm emotions as their bodies pressed against each other.

He soon somehow found himself pinned to the dark cushions, one of Watson's hands pressing against his shoulder as the other one trailed down his chest, down to his stomach. Watson kissed him forcefully while opening first his own jacket and then Holmes'. They only stopped to take off their shoes, with fingers that trembled.

Holmes had just kicked off the last shoe when Watson's strong hands seized his shoulders and replaced him on the couch, mouths slammed together.

He then got dragged up by those strong hands and the jacket slid off his shoulders. Holmes felt somewhat like a rag doll, but he could not really argue since the new feelings Watson gave him filled him within every second.

Watson worked to get his own waistcoat off, after throwing his jacket over the nearby chair, and Holmes opened his own in one motion, like before. He let it fall to the floor and waited for his friend to do the same.  
He had seen many expressions over the years on his partners face, but he had never seen him like this. Cheeks flustered, jaw clenched, body vibrating. His eyes shined.

They looked at each other for a moment, taking the whole scene in. Holmes then seized Watson by his collar and pulled him into a dominated kiss. His hands played with the doctor's short hair, finding it so incredible soft, and he felt the other man shudder.

Watson's hands trailed his waist, up his sides as he broke the kiss.

"My bed", he huskily said, dragging up Holmes' shirt that was tugged into his pants.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want to wake up to another fight tomorrow."

"Make me feel alive again, Holmes."

Who would the detective be if he said against something like that?

They stumbled into the bedroom, tipping over a pile of books and an ugly lamp while fumbling with their clothes. Holmes pushed Watson down onto the bed, their shirts lost on the way. Their bodies soon found each other, both of them gasping for air by the new sensation. Watson's hands found their way up in the detective's hair, spreading a tingling sensation through his whole body. Holmes' hands fumbled with belt and zipper. He wanted to feel more of his warm skin against himself. Watson moved his hips and the dark, blue trousers easily slid off him. Their mouths found each other; the kiss was primitive yet filled with excitement.

They moved together in a rhythm they both knew deep inside them. Holmes could feel Watson's rising manhood against his legs, he pressed him closer. The new feelings he gave him was unbelievable. His mind reacted like it was too slow to understand, yet his body knew exactly what he wanted.

He wanted Watson.

He moaned with lust when his hands traveled down to his bare chest. He kept massaging the strong muscles and the nipples as they kissed, forcing him to moan straightly into the kiss. One of his skilled hands then opened his belt and then trousers. Holmes gladly helped him to take them off.

The kiss broke as they rolled over in the bed; Holmes nibbled Watson's neck while touching everywhere he could reach on his warm body. The doctor moaned heavily and let his hands slid along Holmes' sides, sending shivers down the detective's spine.

They then sat up, staring at each other. It was like a mist covered Watson's eyes, but they were still so intense. A few red bite marks could already be seen on his body in the dim dark.

Holmes placed a finger on Watson's chin and let it trail down over his chest. He could feel the steady rise and fall of the chest and the heart beating fast under it. His hand trailed down over the stomach, feeling the muscles working under his fingers. He gave Watson a quick look before sliding his hand into his boxers and feeling him.

The doctor hissed and closed his eyes. Holmes started to pump him as Watson rested against his shoulder. The detective continued for a moment, before taking the other man's hand and guiding it to himself. It seems like Watson was too used to women to do it by himself, this time, and Holmes was curious over the feelings it would give, having another do it to himself.

It was not by far like he had imagined, Watson's strong hands on his cock made him cry out from the back of his throat. He felt more alive than he had ever done in his entirely life, with this other, sweaty man panting against his shoulder while they pumped each other.

"I think I might come", Holmes panted after a while, as much to himself as to Watson.

Bright eyes looked at him for a mere moment before the brown haired man leaned in again and kissed his shoulder. Holmes shivered as Watson placed his mouth over the sensitive skin and bit down. Hard.

Really hard.

"By all means, why did you-" Holmes pushed him away but a finger on his lips stopped him.

"Not yet", the taller man said huskily, pressing him down on the mattress, "Not on my shift."

Holmes gave him a plucked brow, '_shift_'? Was Watson one of the people who had to involve parts of their professions on deep emotional levels like this one? Maybe it was one of those kinks he had read about. It must be a good thing if the doctor started to show them. He could not help but to wonder if he had some of his own.

He stroke Watson hard while kissing him again, oh how he had missed those lips, it felt like they had not kissed for an eternity. The taller man removed his hand and nibbled Holmes' under lip before parting.

"Wait, let me do it now."

Holmes looked up at him and down their bodies. He wondered why the other man was so eager to be the dominant part in the intercourse.

"And what gives you that privilege?"

"I am the doctor after all", Watson replied with a confident smile, kissing his forehead, before leaving the bed for his bag, that stood by the window.

"What's that?" Holmes asked with keen interest as the doctor took up a small tube.

"A special lubricant, we give it to women that are usually dry."

"And why, my dear friend, do you have it in your workbag?" Holmes continued as his friend replaced himself between his legs.

"That's none of your business" the brown haired man said nonchalantly, putting on the oil on his left hand.

"That bad?" the shorter man grinned, remembering the conversation they have had at The Royal.

"Oh, shut up", Watson muttered and captured those smiling lips with his own.

The kiss almost broke by Holmes' groan as the other man used one of his fingers to get inside of him; Watson whimpered by the sounds he made. Apparently it turned him on even more. They continued for a while, more fingers where added, before Watson removed his fingers, dragging down his boxers instead. Holmes could feel how he tensed a bit by the sight of his erected cock, but he knew he could trust him.

"Does it hurt?" Watson panted as he entered him as gently as he could.

"Yes and no, it's mostly strange", Holmes answered as casual as he could. It certainly did not feel good, but he was glad his friend was a doctor since he probably would had gotten seriously hurt if they had just done it without warming up.

"Give it some time, love", the doctor gave him a light kiss before groaning and Holmes now scowled at him.

It took some time before Holmes's body relaxed, Watson stroking him again helped more than he wanted to admit, and they could start to move together. The pain gave away and was replaced by even greater pleasure, making his whole body tremble.

Neither of them knew how long the act lasted; they were both too consumed by their own pleasure and the other body against their own. They soon come to the point where it was too much. Crying out each others names they came together in one trust of pleasure.

Holmes stayed still under Watson, enjoying the pressure of his whole body on him. He was here. Watson was his again.

Nothing happened for a moment or two, and then the doctor pulled out and lay down next to the detective.

Holmes was just about to drift off to sleep when Watson crawled out off bed, without saying a word. He got up and put on his underwear again. Holmes followed him with a half open eye as he put on his trousers.

Watson seemed to study the room and then Holmes before finally opening his mouth, "Now what?"

"What?" Holmes mumbled, wondering if his throat always would get this sore when they did this.

"What should we do now?"

"Get some well eared rest?" the detective proposed, preventing a yawn.

"Holmes, you can't sleep in that _mess_", Watson said with emphasis.

Holmes now sat up, groining, "Why not?" he looked at Watson while scratching the back of his head. His lower back was aching.

"It's not decent", the taller man said shortly and pulled a shirt over his shoulders. He stopped and looked at Holmes for a moment.

"You should clean up."

The black haired man fought back the urge to snarl, why must the other man be so meticulous?

"What about the sheets?"

"I don't know, maybe we should burn them?" Watson suggested while leaning against the wardrobe.

"Seems like an expensive resolution in the long term", Holmes yawned; he then stretched his sore body, "I have something we can use on them", he looked at Watson, "Mrs Hudson will never know."  
Watson gave him a thin smile.

"You should get some rest in your own bed. I'll take the couch tonight" he then said somewhat briskly and Holmes was just about argue, he would not accept this as an one time thing, when Watson leaned down and gave him a soft kiss, right on the lips.

Holmes could not hide a grin as his partner left the room. "If you say so", he sang out deviously.

**To be continued**

* * *

******AN:** I DID IIIIIIIIIT. Woah. I now realize how boring it is to write when two people are having sex. It's so _intense_ (well duuh), angst is more fun C:  
I wanted their first time together to be realistic and somewhat still in character. I have a hard time with fics were they just go straight for the penetration. OUCH! ;w; You need to warm up first :3 God, I'm such a perv...  
Can you tell by the way I write that I'm a Holmes/Watson shipper more than Watson/Holmes? I figured Watson would dominate this time since he is more experienced in my eyes and a doctor after all. (Miih!) But who knows next time? MWOAHHAHA.  
Okay, I've just eaten a lot of candy and watched The Mask. SMOKING. And why haven't anybody told me Prince of Persia is like an awesome game? Sands of time is grrrreat. Run along the wall, princeboy, run! 0w0  
Hahaha my new icon is just... I was bored, okay? Wanted to try the waistcoat I made for Natta, my Holmes. XD

**_Treskift_** (Sara), the future ruler of the world, **IS THE BEST**. I KID YOU NOT. Come to my place and play videogames with me naaaao. (What, spending time with your boyfriendo, what do you mean? .w.)

And since we're early in Sweden and celebrates Christmas on the 24th, and I should be sleeping and waiting for Santa now, **MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY. MELLO LOVES YOU ALL.** Argh, seriously! and a happy new year too! :D**  
**

_Follow your spirit... And upon this charge, cry God for Harry, England and St. George!_

Oh! one last thing... if you are from England or lives there, do you know any good schools where you might study history, literature or just english? I'd love to study there but have no idea where one should go! Help? ;A;


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